


Champion Alcoholics

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke has a pretty great system worked out for taking care of her drunk self, if she does say so herself. She's her own best friend and greatest resource.Well, apart from Bellamy. He's also pretty great. And he likes her drunk self-care plan too. Of course he does. He has excellent taste.





	Champion Alcoholics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgonemydear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgonemydear/gifts).



> This is based on a tumblr post Brit sent me, but she just sent me the text and not a link to the post, so I cannot give full credit.

"You know what my problem is?"

Bellamy takes a sip of his own drink, looking amused. "Do I get to pick? I've got a list."

Clarke ignores him. "This. This is my problem."

His eyes cross a little as he attempts to focus on the piece of candy she's waving in his face. "Reese's Peanut Butter Cups?"

"Yup."

"Are you too drunk to open the packaging, or is this some sort of tragic love situation? Did you develop a peanut allergy late in life? I feel like I'd know about that. I’ve seen you eat peanuts."

"Before I left, I packed myself some Gatorade, to hydrate, and also some peanut butter cups, because sober me knew drunk me would be really happy about them."

"None of this sounds like a problem to me. Just good planning."

"Exactly! It's awesome planning. I take care of myself so well. Do you know what my ex thought of that?"

"Which ex?"

"Finn."

He thinks it over. "Probably that he was supposed to be the provider and you didn't need to give yourself peanut butter cups."

She has to smile. "Pretty much exactly. But then he never had them, so, like--how does that help me? You can't tell me not to bring peanut butter cups and then not have any for me."

"Yeah, that's douchebag 101. And Finn is basically majoring in douchebaggery, so--"

She giggles. It's a good sign she is _extremely_ drunk. She never giggles if she can help it, and alcohol removes all her ability to keep it in. "He’ll graduate summa cum laude."

"What did Lexa say about it? Is candy not supposed to make you happy because life is short and pain is eternal?"

“Close enough. She doesn’t really like alcohol that much, so I always felt weird getting drunk around her.”

“No wonder you guys didn’t work out.” He takes another sip of his own drink. “I’m still not seeing a problem with this.”

“No one is ever going to treat drunk me as well as sober me does. And vice versa.”

“What does drunk you do for sober you?”

“Makes sure she doesn’t get hungover, writes her nice thank you notes.”

He laughs. Bellamy is one of those people who doesn’t laugh often, and when he does it tends to be pretty quiet, but Clarke loves it every single time. It’s mesmerizing.

“Of course you do.” His eyes are still dancing when he smiles at her. “So, your big revelation is that you can’t date anyone because you’re already in a relationship with yourself?”

“Kind of, yeah. I’m better at taking care of myself than anyone else is. No one else even _tries_.”

“Have you told them to? Or is this one of those secret relationship tests?”

“It’s easy, right? What would you do?”

“About what, exactly?”

“If I told you this, and we were dating. You’d know what to do, right? I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

“Huh,” he says. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“Like I said, easy.”

“But somehow also enough of a problem you’re never going to date.”

“Self-sufficiency. I can take care of myself, I love myself, I can get myself off.” Bellamy chokes a little, and she grins. “What, did you think I couldn’t?”

“Honestly, I try not to think about your masturbatory habits. But I’m happy for you. Except for the forever alone thing.”

“Maybe not _forever_. But I don’t have to hurry. I can wait for the right person.”

“And you should,” he says. “Can I have half that peanut butter cup?”

“Only if you thank sober Clarke.”

“Obviously.”

She unwraps the candy and splits it in half, and she and Bellamy munch away in companionable silence. 

“Sober you seems pretty great,” he offers, after they’ve washed the chocolate down with some of her Gatorade.

“The best,” she agrees. “That’s why she deserves the best too.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “She does.”

*

_Dear Sober Clarke,_

_Drunk Clarke and I checked and my handwriting is better, so I’m writing for both of us. We wanted to thank you for the candy and Gatorade, they were both as awesome as you thought they would be._

_For next time, we think you should pack something fruity too, for variety. Drunk Clarke wants Skittles, but I think fruit snacks. Also, gum. Our mouths feel gross. But you're doing great, we really appreciate you. You're the best, and we hope you don't have a hangover tomorrow. But fuck Sober Bellamy, he didn't do anything._

_Love,  
Drunk Bellamy and Clarke_

*

Clarke met Bellamy halfway through her sophomore year, when he transferred in from one of the state universities using credits he'd managed to cobble together while he was raising his sister. They hadn't gotten along at first, butting heads in their political science class, but it was hard to dislike someone who was that intelligent and passionate. Clarke _likes_ people who care about things; it wasn't really a surprise that she and Bellamy became friends. Best friends, even. There's no one else in the world like him.

She still feels a little awkward when he greets her with, "Did drunk Clarke protect you from your hangover?" at breakfast the next morning.

"Shut up," she grumbles, and he grins and steals a piece of bacon off her plate.

"I can't tell if that's a yes or a no. You're always grumpy."

"And I never get hangovers. How are you doing?"

"I wasn't as drunk as you were."

"So, slightly hungover?"

"Nope, sober Clarke had my back too." He props his chin on his hand, watching her. "Do you always do that?"

"Always do what?"

"Care packages for yourself when you get drunk."

"They're not care packages, just supplies. It's like packing condoms when you're planning to hook up."

"Which you're not, because you're better at taking care of yourself than anyone else."

She puts her head down on the table. "Can you just pretend we didn't have that conversation? That would be the polite thing."

"Yeah, because politeness is really my strong suit." There's a pause, and then he adds, "Why do I need to pretend that, anyway? I thought it made sense. I'm going to start packing my own party care packages."

She has to smile. "God, you would, wouldn't you? You're totally the care-package type."

"Yeah," he agrees, after another pause. "That's me."

*

Saturday is Anya's birthday, which means Clarke is going to have to get _wasted_. Lexa will be there with her new girlfriend, and while Clarke isn't pining away for her and doesn't regret the breakup in the least, it's hard to not feel like a bit of a failure. Finn's got a girlfriend, Raven's got a boyfriend, Lexa's got a girlfriend. Everyone else involved in her breakups has moved on, and she hasn't.

Or, she has. She doesn't want Finn, she doesn't want Lexa. But it feels like she can't say she's moved on until she's with someone else, and that _sucks_. Society is the worst and she hates it.

So, yeah. She's going to get drunk, and she's going to feel better.

"You know alcohol isn't a replacement for therapy, right?" Bellamy asks, as they walk over.

"I don't need therapy. I just need to finish college and get away from my failed relationships."

"You didn't fail," he says, surprisingly gentle. "You and Lexa weren't compatible long-term. Things not working doesn't mean anyone did anything wrong. Finn did something wrong," he adds, after a pause. "But you didn't know about Raven, so that was all on him. He was the asshole there, not you."

Clarke has to bite back on her smile. "You don't have to try to make me feel better."

"I know. I want to anyway."

"Thanks. I'm still getting drunk."

"Yeah, that goes without saying."

Anya's parties aren't exactly Clarke's scene, as a rule. She likes getting drunk, but Anya tends toward loud and slightly belligerent, focused on dancing and hooking up, while Clarke prefers drinking games and good-natured arguing. But Anya's living with Lincoln this year, and Lincoln's generally more relaxed. She and Bellamy did a few shots before they left, just to be safe, and when they arrive, they wish Anya a happy birthday and then head downstairs to play Cards Against Humanity with the calmer guests.

When she reaches for her drink after the first round, Bellamy presses a Gatorade into her hand instead, and Clarke blinks.

"What's this?"

"Hydrate," he says. "I'm trying this care package thing."

She perks up, grinning. "Wait, really? What do you have? What did you bring?"

"Are you guys in for next game or not?" asks Monty, and Clarke grabs Bellamy's arm to tug him away. 

"We'll watch. I need to check something out."

Monty snorts. "Yeah you do."

Bellamy's looking a little embarrassed, but Clarke's delighted. He _would_ think this was a good idea. Bellamy loves taking care of people.

"So, what did you bring?"

"Drink some Gatorade first."

She does, and passes the bottle back to him. He takes a large swallow himself and then opens up his messenger bag, pulling a purple lunchbox out.

"You have a _lunch box_ ," she says. This is the best night of her life.

"Some of this stuff is perishable. I've got an ice pack in there."

Clarke leans closer, propping her chin on his shoulder. "Like what?"

"Celery and carrot sticks."

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"It's supposed to be _good_ stuff. Candy is exciting. Carrot sticks are--"

"It's a _birthday party_ ," he says. "We're going to have so much sugar our teeth will hurt. I wanted some variety. If we were going to a vegetable party, I'd bring candy.""

"Okay, carrots and celery. What else?"

"Some fruit, protein bars, chewing gum in case you didn't bring any--"

"I did. That was a good idea."

"Cool. We'll have a lot."

Clarke repositions so she's resting her head on his shoulder. "You're my favorite person."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Can I have a carrot stick?"

He laughs. "As many as you want."

*

_Dear Sober Clarke,_

_Please give Sober Bellamy a tutorial on how to pack supplies for drunk ~~she~~ ~~shennanigans~~ adventures, because he's not great at it. But the carrot sticks were good. Actually everything was good, but come on. CARROT STICKS. He's ridiculous. Who brings carrot sticks to a party?_

_Anyway, if we coordinate we can have better snacks so talk to him. He's a good friend. A good person. Really, he's just the best. He's reading this and blushing and it's adorable. He got drunker tonight so his handwriting is awful. I love him. And I love you, sober Clarke. You're the best too._

_xoxo,  
Drunk Clarke_

_P.S. I think I do okay taking care of you. Actually, I think I'm awesome at it._

_Love,  
Bellamy_

*

Clarke gets to breakfast before Bellamy the next morning, and she's almost done by the time he makes it down. He's looking worn out, hair a mess, glasses smudged and crooked. She can't remember the last time he looked so out of it.

He hesitates before sitting down, which is even weirder.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Wrong?"

"You look awful."

"Thanks." He slumps down into the seat across from her, rubs his face. "I'm tired."

"Did the care package not work? Are you hungover?"

"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."

She frowns. "Are you feeling okay? Are you sick? I know you don't love Anya's parties--"

"I'm fine," he says, with a smile that seems genuine. "Just--couldn't turn my brain off." He clears his throat. "How about you? Did your drunk self treat you right?"

"Yup. We're supposed to make care packages together next time."

"Fun group activity."

She nudges his foot with hers under the table. "It is for us, though. You know it is."

"It is." He clears his throat. "I do like the care packages thing. I like, uh--I like having that stuff."

"Of course you do. You get it."

His smile is still a little off, but Clarke tries not to worry about it. He's not feeling well; it's not big deal. "Yeah. I try."

*

"So, discount candy. Very important."

"You know half-price Halloween candy isn't an obscure life hack, right?" Bellamy asks. "Everyone knows about it."

They're at CVS buying supplies for Raven's Halloween Harry Potter pub crawl, which they're celebrating the week after Halloween because of scheduling issues. Clarke's glad to have Bellamy on her side for this one; it's going to be a mess. A lot of things could go wrong. They're going to need a giant care package _and_ a first aide kit, probably.

"I buy enough to get me through to Valentine's Day. It involves a lot of self-control not eating it all at once."

"So this is your special drunk candy?"

"Yeah."

He shakes his head. "You have this down to an art, huh?"

"If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right."

"Clearly." He runs his hands over the bright bags. "What's your favorite? Peanut butter cups?"

"And Twix, yeah. I don't like stuff with nuts in it."

"Title of your sex tape," he says automatically, and she elbows him.

"What about you? Favorite candy?"

"M&Ms."

"Huh."

He raises his eyebrows, amused. "Don't tell me you're judging me for liking M&Ms."

"I'm not. But they're not great for sales. I'd just buy them in bulk and put them in ziplock bags."

"Trust me, I know how to save money on candy. But thanks for your concern." 

They fall into an awkward silence, which has been happening more than Clarke would like in the last week. Something is off between them, but she hasn't been able to figure out what, and it's bothering her. Every time she asks Bellamy how he is, he says he's fine, and nothing is really _different_. It's just a vibe between them, something that could be all in her head. It's awkwardness inertia: once she thinks things are weird, thinking about it makes it worse. She's self-conscious and overthinking things, and the more she does that, the worse it gets.

"Are you dressing as a character or just going for your house?" she asks, to break the silence.

"Character. Hufflepuff stuff is a pain to get, so I'm just going as James Potter. Gryffindor merch is everywhere."

"James, not Harry?"

"Brown eyes."

"Yeah, that's really important."

He shrugs. "I like James. I was kind of a dick in high school too, until I figured out what was really important."

"So now you're a dick for justice."

He ducks his head, smiling. "That's what I go for, yeah. What about you? Generic Slytherin?"

"I prefer to think of it as genderbent Draco Malfoy."

He frowns. "Really?"

"Genderbent fanfic Draco Malfoy. The one who has secret potential and is trying to unlearn all his racism and bigotry."

"I like regular Slytherin Clarke."

She slides her arm through his. "And I like regular Hufflepuff Bellamy. But it's a Halloween party, kind of. We don't have to be ourselves."

"We're awesome, though," he teases, and she laughs.

"Yeah, we're the best."

*

_Dear Sober Clarke,_

_we're IDIOTS Bellamy wants to make out but not just make out like_

_how did we not figure this out??? he was being SO OBVIOUS and we FAILED_

_look just trust me on this one I love you and want what's best for you and me so please just talk to him tell him how much we love him because we do and we can be happy because he loves us tooooooooooo_

_xoxoxo I support and love you,  
Drunk Clarke_

*

Clarke doesn't get blackout drunk, generally. What she gets is kind of hazy drunk, where things will remain in her mind, but confused, not resurfacing for a while. So she knows she had a good time at Raven's party, that she stuck to Bellamy like she was glued to his side. She took his hand at some point, and his fingers were firm and rough, and the whole night felt alive with possibility.

She remembers why she wrote the note, too. It had been such a flash of clarity, when Miller was making fun of them about their care package, and Bellamy said it made total sense to him, and it had all clicked together. She told Bellamy that she wouldn't ever date anyone because no one took care of her like she takes care of herself, and the next time they went out, he had supplies for her. He wrote her a note about how good he was at taking care of her, and he _is_. The right kind of taking care of her, too. Working with her.

He's perfect, and it feels so obvious, now. She can't believe her drunk self thought she'd forget. It's the most important thing that's happened to her in--she doesn't know. It doesn't really have much competition. If Bellamy is actually in love with her, it's a game changer. It's amazing. 

She just has to figure out if she was right.

So, of course, he's not at breakfast. When she texts, he says he's hungover, and she doesn't quite believe it, but it doesn't really matter. She can work with fake hungover as well as she can work with real hungover.

When he opens his door, he doesn't even look surprised to see her, even though she didn't warn him.

"Hey," he says, a little guarded.

"Hey. I can't believe the care package let you down."

"I gave you most of the Gatorade."

"My hero. I brought you hangover food."

"Is it just a box of bacon?"

"Also eggs. And more Gatorade."

His face breaks out in a grin, and her heart twists up. "Thanks."

"We take care of each other, right?"

It's a test, and he passes it. "You take care of yourself," he says, voice a little gruff, eyes shutting down. Just like she hoped.

"Yeah. Did you see the note I wrote myself last night?"

His face clouds as he thinks it over, and then he shakes his head. "No. I missed that one."

"I decided you were in love with me."

For a second, everything is frozen. Then Bellamy lets out a small breath, and his voice is steady when he says, "Yeah? Based on what?"

"You keep telling me you want to take care of me."

"I want to take care of everyone. It's my thing."

She tries not to smile. "It was good news. You being in love with me. I can't believe I didn't figure it out earlier. I felt like an idiot."

"I thought you were trying to--I thought you told me about the care packages as a test. To see if I would--" He clears his throat. "Good news?"

"The best news ever." She takes a step in, pauses. "Are you really hungover?"

"Not that bad. You did drink most of the Gatorade."

"Are you too hungover to make out?"

She can see him swallow, and then his hand comes up to slide into her hair, and when she tips her face up, he kisses her. And it's so fucking stupid, that she could have been kissing him for however long she could have been, and she didn't realize it at all. She didn't even think to try.

"Fuck," he says, letting out a shaky laugh against her mouth. "I thought you were trying to let me down easy."

"No. Just oblivious."

"I wrote you a note about how good a boyfriend I thought I'd be."

"Too subtle."

He tugs her closer, kisses her again. "Well, I think I'd be a really good boyfriend."

She grins. "Yeah, me too."

*

_Dear Sober Bellamy and Clarke,_

_Good job with the care package, those protein bars were really good. And Clarke loved the fruit snacks, so she doesn't get to complain about them anymore. More fruit snacks next time. Maybe some trail mix._

_We're still too drunk to have sex, so that's on you guys. We really want to have sex, so don't let us down._

_Good luck, have fun, we love you very much. Thanks for looking out for us and each other._

_Love,  
Drunk Bellamy and Clarke_


End file.
